


The Burning of Young Beth

by ChainSmokesPens



Category: Original Work
Genre: Fantasy, Flash Fic, Religion, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:46:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28459977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChainSmokesPens/pseuds/ChainSmokesPens
Summary: Prompt: [WP] The villagers grabbed plywood as they prepared to burn a young woman for being a witch. The girl began to laugh. She actually was a witch, and fire is what made her stronger.





	The Burning of Young Beth

The villagers watched as young Beth struggled against her bindings. Father Theodore had demanded them tied thrice-fold. The measure seemed extreme as the girl, not even old enough to marry, had the harsh ropes dig into her arms. And as she struggled and squealed, held to a pole above an ever-growing pile of kindling, they wondered if they'd made a mistake.

The village saw their souls wavering in one another's eyes even more clearly than they saw the struggle to survive in young Beth's. Could the child who help clean laundry and milk cows and build wagons and water livestock be a follow of the devil?

Young Beth's screaming became frenzied. And as a soft amber glow began to grow over her hoisted form, the villagers turned to see Father Theodore, torch held aloft, fire ignited with fat-sodden rags.

He reached the crowd, but they didn't move. The girl's screaming had unnerved the people, their hearts weighed down with every desperate cry she made. Father Theodore quoted the bible, as he was one to do, recounting how the Red Sea had parted before Moses. By the power of his divine appellation, the crowd divided itself and he proceeded.

He stood before young Beth, the fire reflected off her glossy eyes as tears poured down her face. Moisture struck the wood at the pole's base. And following the trail upward, Father Theodore found she'd soiled herself in fear. He looked upward, holding the torch closer to her face to better see her pleading eyes. He chuckled.

For minutes, Father Theodore spoke of how young Beth's wickedness had been discovered and listed her crimes. With each outlandish claim he raised the villagers felt their resolves sink further. All villagers claimed to love God, though few had patience for Father Theodore's loquaciousness. And even they were hoping that he wouldn't stop, if it would spare them from having to watch a young girl being immolated.

With a sick grin on his face, he climbed the kindling and asked young Beth if she had any final words. The girl's words came out in a rasp, he throat torn from her screams. Her eyes scanned the crowd, looking for anyone who would help her. Father Theodore stood closer, closer than anyone felt he should be standing to a witch, his bearded cheek rubbing, lingering, against her freckled one as he asked her to speak up louder. She winced as the bristles of his facial hair scratched her soft face.

He descended the pile of wood, licked her tears from his cheek, and declared that since she'd not asked for forgiveness nor confessed to being a witch, she would be burned. He looked at her coldly as he threw the torch into the kindling.

The flames crackled to life, spreading faster than anyone in the village had anticipated it would. Young Beth, tired, couldn't scream any further. She watched as the glowing ring encircled her and began its ascent. As the fires climbed higher, Father Theodore raised his voice, preaching of the trial of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, declaring that if the Lord had found mercy on her, his angel would protect her from the flames.

As the first flames touched her toes, a sound escaped her. Many villagers tucked there heads, many covered their ears, many clenched their eyes. They couldn't watch this happening.

Father Theodore demanded they look, that they be strong, that they face evil with defiance instead of fear. Every villager turned to face the girl. The flames licked at her feet. And the sound escaped her again.

It was laughter.

Like the sound a young girl makes when having a tickle fight with a boy she fancied, young Beth was laughing. It was a cute giggle that fell on the ears as delicately as snowfall.

As the flames reached her knees, the crowd stepped back, and the girl's laughter grew greater. Her feet had singed in the heat of the flames, though her calves did not. Nor did her knees or her thighs.

Father Theodore stood frozen in the heat, paralyzed by the sight before him. The flames engulfed young Beth, but the laughter didn't stop. The ropes broke in the fire, but the girl stayed aloft. Father Theodore backed away as the girl advanced, arms outstretched, wreathed in her own pyre. The pyre itself trembled with laughter.

She opened her mouth and the flames rushed inward. Each ember danced like a devil parading its way back to Hell. The flames were taken up from the wood, weaving themselves into intricate robes adorned with gold and rubies and ambers.

There, floating amidst the crowd, her gaze turned down to Father Theodore. She looked at him with blazing eyes and scoffed, before belching up a wave of flames that consumed him.

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes a prompt is just so good you feel the need to do it in spite of yourself.


End file.
